


Follow You

by nellywrites



Category: Glee
Genre: Gen, crackfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 12:42:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1470250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nellywrites/pseuds/nellywrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A day in the life of Sebastian Smythe, undercover blogger and obnoxious Blaine Stan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Follow You

**Author's Note:**

> Super late entry for the Glee Write What You Know fest because if there are two things I know well it’s Blaine stanning and snark blogging. And I also occasionally get into internet fights with people over Blaine. I’m unabashedly poking fun at myself here, via Sebastian.

Sebastian Smythe looked around the perimeter of his silent Manhattan apartment, half expecting teenage boys to jump out from behind the furniture saying, “what’s up? what you looking at there?”. Satisfied he was, in fact, alone in his own apartment he opened the computer resting on his lap and began his usual nightly routine of social media catch up. Some people might call his dedication stalking; he preferred the term reconnaissance. An image of Trent’s round face judging him from the other side of the room came to him, unbidden: “Sebastian, you’re creepy. Did you know that you’re creepy?”

Whatever. He could live with that.

Staying thoroughly informed was harder now that he didn’t have Jewfro and Stoner Brett on the inside providing intel, but he was slowly building new connections in the city. It didn’t hurt that the guy in Blaine’s movement class that Sebastian was putting his own moves on didn’t ask too many questions. Plus, he gave great head. Fringe benefits.

There were, also, of course, the show choir blogs. Sebastian’s most secret of pleasures. Being informed was cool; obsessively keeping up with show choir blogs was not. Hunter used to do that and  _everybody_  thought he was a tool. Sebastian been posting his own reviews for a while now, under the cover of anonymity. After all, he had an aloof image to maintain. He did mostly high school productions, but since transplanting himself to the Big Apple, he’d upgraded to real productions. He’d managed to acquire a decent following. People seemed to appreciate his snark and keep-it-real attitude. He didn’t know why he was still undercover. There was no need for secrecy now he was finally free of the Dalton dorms. Still, there was something fun about being on the down-low. He could say whatever he wanted with no real world repercussions.

Sebastian knew better than most; there was no such thing as leaving high school. Take that lot of former glee club stars, it didn’t matter to them that they’d all graduated. Those freaks were so competitive they weren’t going to let something dumb like graduation stop them from fanatically checking up on the competition. If anything, they’d gotten more vicious once out of school. Real stakes now, he guessed.

After catching up on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, YouTube and Google+ (even though only like 3 people used that) Sebastian logged on to his blog. He scrolled through a few pages of porn gifs, pictures of Lana del Rey and inane text posts before seeing a brand new post from his favorite show choir blog, **showchoiralumni**.

 

>  
> 
> **Blaine Anderson and Rachel Berry sing Broadway Baby in NYADA’S Round Room for MidWinter Critique, thanks to ariasongbird for the video!**

 

He watched the video 3 times in a row. Once to get the full picture, and two more times to take in the intricacies of Blaine’s performance. The highs, the lows, the whimsy. He watched, enraptured, mouth agape like an idiot, laughing at Blaine’s comedic antics. He wished whoever filmed this didn’t focus so much on Berry.

“Flawless,” Sebastian whispered into the air and pressed play again.

After watching it a few more times and committing everything to memory, he bookmarked the video to reblog to his Blaine Anderson Appreciation Blog later. He scrolled down to the comments. It was mostly praise for both Blaine and Berry. Other people expressing excitement for Funny Girl (Sebastian made a mental note to be ruthless with his review). One person wishing Blaine would let up on the hair gel. Would they just give it up with the gel thing. Can’t they understand the gel is part of his personality? He can’t just get rid of it!

Sometimes Sebastian felt he was the only person in the world who truly understood Blaine Anderson.

Then he saw his smarmy face, in full pixelated glory. His nemesis. Jean-Baptiste. That piece of french-canadian trash. Round these parts everyone treated the guy’s words like gospel, even though it seemed like he just showed up one day. The guy _claimed_  he loved Blaine, even called him one of his favorite performers, but Sebastian knew better. The only thing Jean-Baptiste Gauthier felt toward Blaine Anderson was envy. Sebastian could read it between the lines of every backhanded compliment. Every one of Blaine’s victories and triumphs only served to remind Jean Baptiste of his own mediocrity, which is why he sought to bring Blaine down. After all, where was Jean-Baptiste now? Not NYADA. His constructive criticism, which Sebastian  _knew_  Blaine saw, sounded an awful lot like hate to Sebastian.

 

>  
> 
> **expectme commented:**
> 
> Not Blaine’s best performance. Rachel Berry impeccable as always, but Anderson’s relying too much on her. He’s relying too much on the bombastic music and the theatricality of the song, and he’s dare I say it, a tad over the top. No emotional depth to his performance. Rumor mill says he’s struggling at NYADA. I’m afraid they might be right. He was good enough for Lima, but is he good enough for NY?

 

“Afraid my ass,” Sebastian muttered. “You’d like nothing more than to see Blaine fail at everything, wouldn’t you, Jean-Baptiste.” Sebastian couldn’t understand how someone he’d never met could irritate him so much. He was so sick of this douchebag implying Blaine wasn’t good enough, all because Throat Explosion took nationals.  He pulled the laptop close to him and began composing his rant.

 

 

> **theswallowsong replied to expectme:**
> 
> The only thing struggling here is your eyesight and your sense of hearing because that performance was flawless, like everything Blaine does. No emotional depth? It’s Broadway Baby! What fucking emotion was he supposed to portray exactly?! He did what the song called for. Now go back to guzzling come to keep that throat of yours dutifully lubricated, and lay off Blaine.

 

“Not New York good. What the fuck does that even mean?”

How anyone could hate the perfectly compact package of dreamy sexiness that was Blaine Anderson, Sebastian couldn’t understand.

He exited the tab and went back to his dash. A few seconds later the red notification appeared over the message icon. Sebastian rolled his eyes. Of-fucking-course.

 

 

>  

Ok no. Just, no.  Blaine had been working for this for his entire life. Lessons, and competitions, theme park gigs, school plays, president of 17,347 clubs.  Show choir leader? What the hell were these people on? Blaine was an admissions committee wet dream. The guy got into Columbia, as his backup school.

“How’s this for a boner,” Sebastian said, replying to the message with a picture of an erect penis that may or may not have been his own. He could hear his father’s voice in his head, _you’ll never be a politician now, bug_. Please. What did his father know. He was smart enough to cover any identifying marks. Besides, this is a post-Clinton society. Even the President takes #selfies. Nude pictures would probably increase his chances of getting into office.

He wondered if Blaine had any nude pics.  

Sebastian’s eyes glazed over as he pictured defined arms, tapered waist, the indecent hollows of his hips, and reach around to hold on to round, perky…

He absentmindedly hit refresh and came face to face with Casper the Frigid Ghost.

Boner effectively killed.

Post blocked. He’d been showing up on these show choir blogs lately and every once in a while managed to elude Sebastian’s otherwise airtight blacklist. Sebastian shuddered and checked his messages once more after noticing the number 2 hovering over the message icon.

 

> _theswallowsong answered:_

 

 

>  

“Suck my dick, Lisa Frank,” Sebastian said and deleted the message without bothering to answer.

What was it with these anons today. Can’t a guy have an opinion on the internet without people jumping on his back? Mojo lost, Sebastian scrolled down his dash hoping for something fun. Jackpot. Picture of Blaine and Trouty Mouth. Sam Evans was pretty hot, for a straight guy. He’d never admit it, but sometimes Sebastian liked to picture Sam and Blaine together. He’d run into them in the locker rooms of the gym they all mysteriously worked out at. Blaine and Sam were in the showers.  And then Sebastian would volunteer to wash both their backs. He’d heard through the grapevine Blaine once hooked up with a guy in the locker room back at Lima 23 Hour Fitness.  He was determined to confirm.

He continued scrolling down, liking a few posts to read later when the Recommended Blogs list caught his eye. NothingIronic. Pass. IntenseNudeExplosions. Whoa, he definitely had to check that out later. And finally, The Choirmaster. Sebastian gagged at his laptop screen.

He hadn’t been back to that blog since they trashed-talked Blaine’s performance in West Side Story. They didn’t know what they were talking about. Blaine could totally keep up with Rachel Berry. The only thing that would have Sondheim rolling in his as-yet-of-unnecessary-grave would be the thought of anyone but Blaine Anderson playing Tony in an Ohio high school production.

If he could revoke someone’s Internet privileges, it’d be to whoever ran that blog.

Sebastian checked his drafts and made last minute edits to his latest review (an awful off-Broadway production of Into The Woods) before posting.  He checked his notifications to reply to comments from yesterday’s review when he saw Two-faced Baptiste had responded.

 

> **expectme replied to your comment:**
> 
> Didn’t you suck so hard you were impeached? By the way, how is Juilliard treating you? Oh, wait. You didn’t get in. Too bad daddy can’t fix that one for you.

 

Sebastian seethed. How did that bastard know that?  _Nobody_  knew that.

 

 

> **expectme edited a comment:**
> 
> ETA, before you ask 
> 
>  
> 
>  

           

Look, it wasn’t Sebastian’s fault the admissions committee at Juilliard hadn’t appreciated the genius of his reinterpretation of There Are Worse Things I Could Do. He’d been born to play Gay Rizzo. One day they would see it, and they’d be sorry they passed on him.

He bitterly pressed refresh once more, while plotting retaliation, half-hoping more asinine anons had come attack him in the last 30 seconds. What he got instead was even better.

 

> **EXCLUSIVE VIDEO OF JESSE ST. JAMES DRESSED AS A WIGGLE AT TODDLER’S PARTY. CLICK LINK FOR VIDEO**
> 
>  

My, how the mighty have fallen. That should keep the masses occupied long enough.

His phone beeped with an incoming message from his NYADA booty call.

 

 

> _“A bunch of us from NYADA are meeting @ Callbacks for singing and drinks. Wanna come?”_
> 
>  

Oh, did he. He’d been working on a refreshing arrangement of Gaga’s Paparazzi. And if Blaine happened to be there to see him sing it… well,  fringe benefits.

 


End file.
